Headless Ghouls

Ever since Jon was a young boy he had heard stories of the headless ghouls that frequented the graves. It was the consummate indignity, to be severed from your body - and be so ultimately disfigured, that at the time of the holy rising these souls would have no chance at resurrection. “Oh dear God, I pray this not be so”, he spoke out loud as these fears of this escalated.

The heat was rising from the cracked mud road. Lizards were sunning their scales, and soon every dry branch seemed to grow legs, as the scalding sun made its way to his mind and his eyes blurred with dehydration. Only a few more miles to go, he thought hopefully, as the weight of his parcels increased intolerably.

Jon considered seriously about tossing the second head away, just to ease the ache in his arm - but no, there was a payment waiting that he much needed, for the retrieval and delivery of this Anglish runaway. He drew a deep breath, and straightened the pole across his shoulders from which the baskets swung from, and diligently kept going.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Two Heads are Better than One

In one basket lay his father’s head, and in the other, the head of a man whom he did not know, or recognise … but hoped dearly it was the right one, as it appeared in likeness to the miniature portrait he had been afforded before setting out to collect them both.

They weighed heavier than he had imagined they would. His choices had been few - either pay the executioner for their retrieval, or purchase a horse to carry them back - and of course, it was the first option he conceded.

Was a burial complete with just the head? There was simply no way to take the entire corpse home - even if he had been permitted. At the very least, this was confirmation of the event, and something to grieve upon for his beloved mother who was awaiting his return. Jonathon was grateful at this time to have a task to perform; it cased his anger, it calmed his trembling, it quietened his sorrow - he slowly and painfully walked on.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Faerie Folk Losing Their Mind

The truth was, that Needles had been destitute for some time. He wanted for nothing in particular, and, in being immortal, he was never in peril - yet he was, as so many of the faerie folk were, losing his mind.

It happened ever so quickly, in the space of just a century, in worldly time. One being after another began with symptoms that paralleled the Mortal woes, especially with that of Dementia. This malady and parody of selfhood and consciousness, afflicted both Mortal and Fae with confounding confusion.

Not only were vast numbers of Dwarves so affected, there were also the absentminded Angels, disorientated Devas, forgetful Elves, sleeping Trees, lethargic Nymphs - even the honey was beginning to lose its sweetness.

Yes, the thoughts of men were seriously deriding the consciousness of their ethereal brothers - and as both sank into abstraction and isolation even commonsense seemed to have lost its way.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Signposted Paths

Needles had been living outdoors in a State-run forest. Its iron gates would be locked at night, when he was free to wander its signposted paths, going from one bin to the next, rummaging for sauce-soaked crumbs, hungry for the comfort and sustenance of tasty takeaway foods.

The old Dwarf was generally invisible to men, and so even when he crossed paths with a ranger patrolling he did not ever fear being caught. As for his own kind, they preferred living in the towns, and so, for the main of his nights and his days, he was very much left to himself - or what was left of him.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Spiky Hair

Needles looked everywhere trying to find his words - yet sensed that they were now long gone and nowhere to be found. Neither here, nor there; along with their many accompanying thoughts, these words, like others before them, had vanished too far from his mind’s reach to be able to recall them.

He splashed his face with muddy water; its red iron particles settled deep into the wrinkles crinkling his face. His eyes were aquamarine, and his pyjamas of pale blue silk. Silver-white spiky hair haloed his ancient head.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self, Second Guesses AZLANDER Series

A Single Sigh

Eve hurriedly made her way to the car, forgetting to pause the video recording. Although dark in her purse, the streaming continued. The Vauxhall stuttered before starting.

Eve began to cry, and as though in sympathy, the clouds emptied their heavy rain straight at her windscreen. She pulled over into a grassy lane, to wait out the storm.

Although Eve had not lost a child herself, she had miscarried in the first trimester - and this most painful of memories stalked her otherwise happy life. She closed her eyes for a single sigh, and then gave way to the grief once again.

“Are you going to be blubbing there all day?” asked a curious voice from behind her.”

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Stone Cottage

Standing in a tiny stone cottage on the very same spot a stillborn had lain some hundreds of years earlier, Eve’s heart was racing, for in her mind’s eye she could see the mother weeping with painful clarity. It was a pitiful image.

On leaving, Eve brushed past the arched door where there were dents in the splintering wood: these markings were from where a witch had whacked her knuckled stick, trying to force her way into the cottage to souvenir the child just born.

It was all too real these ghosts she felt.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- AZLANDER Series